


Vorabend

by Jaydee_Faire



Category: Final Fantasy Tactics
Genre: Canon, Gen, end of chapter one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:21:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22442497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaydee_Faire/pseuds/Jaydee_Faire
Summary: Argath rides with Zabaag to Fort Ziekden.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Vorabend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CorpseBrigadier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorpseBrigadier/gifts).



Argath lay alone in his tiny tent, wrapped in patchy furs and scratchy wool blankets, and listened to the soft hiss of the snow falling outside. Once, he’d huddled with Ramza in a pile of blankets and old clothing in the flickering light of a coal brazier. Now he was separated from the youngest Beoulve by miles of snowcapped hills and an argument that had left both his mouth and his heart bleeding.

He’d done all he could to help, and for his troubles gotten a swollen lip and a broken tooth whose jagged edges cut his tongue every time he probed it. It throbbed with the beat of his pulse, with the sound of his boots crunching through the snow. Zalbaag on his chocobo had led them, breaking trail so the others could follow in his wake: three cold-eyed knights both taller and broader than Argath, and two mages, a pair of sisters who brought up the rear, whispering to each other. 

Argath himself had walked with his head down, crossbow strapped to the pack on his back. Lord Zalbaag was always first a soldier: he didn’t have time for conversation save what was needed to relay strategies and orders, and he expected everyone to carry their own weight. Whenever Argath caught a glimpse of his face, the man’s expression was stony, even strained, by something more than the cold chapping his lips and cheeks.

They had spoken back at the Beoulve manor, but briefly, Argath’s only contribution being a handful of “Yes, my Lord”s and a secret satisfaction that Zalbaag and Dycedarg, at least, knew how to mete out justice without letting fear of harm to a peasant girl get in the way. He loved Ramza-- soft heart and all-- but they weren’t boys any longer. Boys waited in the wings, looking for orders. Men fought for what was right.

If Ramza was smart, he’d let his brothers do what he could not, and put the Corpse Brigade to rout once and for all. But Delita and his common ways of thinking would not be made to sit idly by. Delita would surely tear off into the hills like a badly trained hunting hound, and wherever Delita went, Ramza followed.

Argath huffed into his cupped hands to warm them, then curled up tighter in his blankets. He would see Ramza again at Ziekden, he was sure. If he could see the work that Argath and Zalbaag would do to bring peace to Gallione, perhaps their friendship could still be mended. 

And if not, there would still be Lords Dycedarg and Zalbaag, indebted to Argath for his help in the plan. He couldn’t hope for anything like a friendship with the older Beoulve brothers, but there would be a path to redemption, for an honorable return to Limberry and perhaps a proper knighthood. 

He’d seen Zalbaag at Limberry in the last part of the war, leading a huge host of soldiers riding under the Order’s banners. In his fantasies Argath put himself in Zalbaag’s seat, astride a tall chocobo with sword in hand. Riding beside him would be a hand-picked team of men chosen for their ferocity and their loyalty, ready to accompany him into battle. 

Their small party woke before dawn, stepping out into the biting cold to decamp and resume their trek through the hills. When Zalbaag called out over his shoulder that the fort was over the next rise, Argath unhooked his crossbow and loaded a bolt. His heartbeat quickened; his broken tooth pricked his questing tongue again. They crested the ridge and there, sitting atop the hill,   
was the place where the last of the Corpse Brigade had wriggled into for safety, and where with sword and bow Zalbaag and Argath would winkle them out again.

There, in massive stone blackened with age and war, lay his future-- whatever it may be.

In the distance, Argath spied a flash of gold and blue. 

“My Lord--”

“I know.” Zalbaag didn’t turn in his saddle. “I trust you know your position?”

“Y-yes, my Lord.”

“Then we’re going in.” This time he did cast a glance down at Argath, eyes unreadable. “See that your aim is true.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was a fic request; I tried my hardest to get Zalbaag right but ended up sort of shying away from it in the end, sorry about that. I hope you all enjoyed it anyway!
> 
> help support me and my work by visiting jaydeefaire.carrd.co.


End file.
